


Unthinkable Duo

by kenzieann27



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Background Poly, M/M, Mentioned Beverly Marsh, Mentioned Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Stanley Uris is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: At the tail end of the 1960s, budding politician Stanley Uris finds himself in a frustrating situation where the only answer is working together with Richie Tozier, the infamous activist who has his share of problems as well.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 13





	Unthinkable Duo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lethimrunsonia (angelsfallingdeancatch)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfallingdeancatch/gifts).



> This was a very crazy thing I didn't know I wanted to do or not, but I do have a very soft spot for the 60s and I thought this would be a fun break from the other things I am working on. Enjoy!

Stanley Uris didn't have the slightest idea what he was doing, which was most certainly a first for the young congressional candidate. Every aspect of his life was already decided, already done, already planned out for him. By all means, he should have been excelling in this race, the professional he was. Stanley denounced those hippies every chance he got, proving to anyone with a camera and a microphone that, despite his eyebrow-raising age, he wouldn't give in to their antics. No, no, Stanley wouldn't dare agree with them, much less stand beside them on even ground. He thought himself above them, those drug-induced activists that would much rather spend a month in a jail cell than take a shower. They had nothing to prove, they just wanted to cause problems for people like him, people that were working tirelessly to bring about the change that would render those dirty freaks useless. _You cannot move a mountain in one day_ , Stanley would think to himself, shaking his head as he passed by yet another protest, another strike, another attention-seeking event of theirs. _Especially not when you have a bunch of clowns distracting your work_.

Unfortunately for Stanley, he had a meeting that afternoon with the circus's ringleader.

Richard Tozier was his name, and being the cause of Stanley's headaches was his game. Stanley had seen that punk in every newspaper in the city at least once a month for the stunts he pulled, which only caused Stanley to roll his eyes in frustration. Didn't those editors realize that was exactly what that flake wanted? _No pictures, idiots, just put his name way back on page nine next to the sports section and we'd never hear from him again_.

It was only on that fateful day, April 13, 1968, that the two had actually met. In the aftermath of an abysmal response from potential voters, Stanley realized his approach needed to change. He needed to look more agreeable to the average person, and he wasn't doing that with his uptight attitude and tailored suits. So, with a week left to add his name to that year's ballots, Stanley did something he never imagined he thought he would do: he did something unexpected.

A couple of phone calls later, he ended up there, stuffed in a small booth in the corner of a diner he'd never heard of. Stanley couldn't be caught dead anywhere that he might have believed would be visited by anyone he knew on that day. He was growing sick just thinking about it.

Well, it might've been the smell of the young man that approached the booth that caused Stanley's sickness, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Are you the asshole that's been harassing my friends all week?" he asked, plopping down in the rather uncomfortable seat across from Stanley and snatching the grimacing boy's mug of coffee away from him. "No one decent drinks black coffee, so I will assume that you are. You're too beautiful to drink this nasty shit, darling, so I'd advise you to at least put a pinch of sugar in there. Don't worry, it won't completely dissolve the stick up your ass."

Sighing before reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, it was beginning to dawn on Stanley what he was about to do. "I didn't mean to harass your associates, Mr. Tozier, but I have been trying to contact you for several days. It's a rather pressing matter."

"Okay, I told your people this already, but, for the last time, I wasn't aware that not doing all that taxes shit was, like, a crime," the bespeckled boy shrugged. Stanley wondered how he could have seen out of those glasses at all, considering the amount of dirt and number of cracks that made those lenses not so much lenses and more flimsy pieces of glass that somehow still clung to those thick black frames. "It's Richie, by the way. If you're going to arrest me, I'd at least like you to call me something not so fucking formal. I will say, though, having one of you people wine and dine me before hauling me off is a first."

"I am… not here to arrest you," Stanley groaned. "That certainly makes things a lot more difficult, but no. Do I look like a cop to you?"

"Between you and me, honey, you barely look like a human being to me right now." Richie shook his head, squinting his eyes before taking another sip of Stanley's coffee. "I'm not sure if that's because of the specs or, uh… nah, you don't need to know all the details of my life."

"As I said, it's been difficult trying to contact you-"

"Hey, these days, I'm a wanted man. I can't help it if everyone wants a piece of me right now," he winked, poorly stifling a giggling fit behind the ceramic mug. "Though, it is a bit of a shocker that someone that looks like _you_ wants to have a chat with _me_. Let's face it, sweetheart, we aren't exactly two people that talk to each other. We resort to insulting each other using ads in the paper like civil folk."

"Could you let me finish talking before you start with whatever nonsensical bullshit you're spouting at me?" Stanley scoffed, causing Richie to howl with laughter. "I've been trying to contact you as I was the one that posted your bail last week, _you're welcome_."

"Oh, do you want me to thank you or something?" Richie clapped slowly, a smug smile on his face. "I shouldn't have been in there in the first place, love, so you weren't doing me any favors. Actually, I rather enjoyed the hot meal and the working plumbing, so _thank you_ for taking me out of there so I could go back to the streets."

"You assaulted a police officer, so I would say that you should have been in jail, yeah," Stanley sighed.

"He was saying shit about my friend," he explained, setting down the coffee mug on the table loudly and opting to point at Stanley instead. "I would say that cop deserved much worse."

"I'm sure Mr. Hanlon was getting along just fine. You didn't need to intervene and create a scene that didn't need to be created in the first place."

"Mr. Hanlon wouldn't be here if he said anything about it," Richie said angrily. "So what? I punched a cop. I did more service to this country than he ever will. Let me go home and cry because I stopped him from murdering a few more people that day."

"You fractured his nose, actually," Stanley frowned, staring at the mug that had been his. "I'm not saying that he didn't deserve it, I'm just saying that you didn't need to bring violence into the situation. They're only going to paint _you_ as the bad guy."

"They can paint me red and call me the commie mascot for all I fucking care. That's the difference between you and me, and I can tell just by looking at those dumbass rags you're wearing: you want to be someone, while I don't want to be anyone. I don't care what they say about me." Rolling his eyes, Richie scooted his way out of the booth, mumbling to himself as he stood. "As much as I love debating morals with you, I have more important shit to do. I gotta scrape up enough cash to get to Chicago in a few months, which is a hell of a lot more important than whatever you wanted to tell me, Mr. Drag."

"It's Stanley, actually," he called out, causing Richie to stop and turn back around. "Stanley Uris. If you are so insistent on leaving, could I at least give you my phone number so we can continue this conversation later? I don't mean to take up so much of your time when you're busy, uh, organizing or whatever."

"You're that asshole running for Congress," Richie replied softly. "I see your name in the paper all the time."

"I wrote a few things here and there, so I would assume so, yeah," Stanley smiled, pulling a napkin from its dispenser. "Do you have a pen?"

"Why are you here?"

Stanley sighed as he looked at Richie, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to admit to the pale young man in the torn denim jacket (no shirt underneath it, of course) and shorts that most certainly belonged to a woman that he was there to ask for his help. Though, Stanley supposed that Richie couldn't have thought much different as he stood staring back at Stanley in his perfectly clean turtleneck and wrinkle-free jacket and slacks that couldn't have fit anyone else as well as they did him and painted the budding politician in a bland sepia tone. They both knew the other was crazy, but Stanley didn't know how to alleviate that.

Certainly not when he couldn't stop staring at the flowers in Richie's hair.

"My numbers are terrible," Stanley admitted, looking back down at the coffee mug on the table. He barely noticed when Richie made his way back over to the booth, retaking his seat and squinting at the lost young man in front of him. "Older voters hate me because I'm not serious, and younger voters hate me because I'm not radical."

"And you're telling me this shit because…?"

"The older voters will never accept me as their own. I'm too young and too democratic," Stanley shrugged. "I hate the war, I hate the path we're on."

"Don't tell me you're giving up on politics to come and join us now," Richie laughed, somewhat surprised at what he was hearing. He'd seen his share of stuck-up jerks like Stanley give up their books in favor of flags and signs, but never a politician. Those people were too far gone to see the error of their ways. "You'd do better at some university group, Stanny, not with us. No one changes these hands."

Stanley sat silent, biting his lip as Richie spoke. He looked up and met those deep blue eyes with something a bit less than desperation, and all it took was that look for Richie to shake his head, laughing incredulously as the situation started to dawn on him.

"You're fucking with me now," he laughed. "No, no, a million times no."

"I need to appeal to the younger voters," Stanley pleaded. "Strangely, they make up the majority of the voters in these districts. To them, though, I'm-"

"You're some rich, pretentious politician who couldn't care less about what's going on, just making more money for yourself while the real Democrats are dying in the streets." Richie scoffed as he tapped his fingers incessantly on the table. "It doesn't matter if it's here or in Vietnam, really. People are dying and no one gives a shit about it, _especially_ politicians. There's money to be made in war and you guys know that quite well."

"Things need to change. We need better people representing us."

"There's no _us_ , babe," Richie laughed, rolling his eyes as a waiter approached the table.

"Oh, Richie, are you over here breaking up with another poor boy?" the waiter asked, pulling a small notepad and a pencil out of the pocket of his apron. He nodded in Stanley's direction expectantly as he flipped open the book to a blank page. "What are you having? I'll make sure to put it on his tab."

"Oh, I think I'll just have a small plate of fries and a vanilla milkshake," Stanley smiled, handing the menu over to the waiter. "And for the record, I could do much better than him."

"Just give me the usual," Richie groaned, putting his head down on the table. 

"Come here often?" Stanley giggled, raising his eyebrows as Richie propped his face up with his left hand, nearly as red as a tomato.

"I'd fracture _his_ nose for saying that shit, but Ben's my friend," he sighed. "Plus, y'know, I am wearing his girlfriend's shorts. Well, ex-girlfriend, really- they did break up, like, a month ago."

"I'll be sure to offer my condolences when he comes back."

"What? For the breakup or for him being my friend?" Richie laughed. "I don't think it would have worked out that well anyway since I don't think Bev really, uh… she is seeing other people right now," he frowned, lifting the fingers on his right hand as he counted. "Three people. Well, not- I mean, Patty and Audra are people so I shouldn't say _not_ , but yeah. Kay's rude to me so she's, you know... women, am I right?"

"You don't have much of a filter, do you?"

"I try not to, no," Richie smiled. "But in a good way. I get worked up over reasonable things, not over wanting other people to have basic human rights."

Stanley hummed in response, nodding as he tucked a loose curl behind his ear in frustration. "I don't understand why your people get so worked up over what politicians do… Democrats, anyway. Aren't we doing the same things?"

"This country hasn't made any real change in years, you should know that."

"Well, we'd be able to change things if you weren't always getting in our way," Stanley shrugged. "Our upbringings aren't so different. New politicians like myself want things to get better but it's hard when you keep painting us like we're all out-of-touch assholes who don't understand what it's like."

"You don't know what it's like at all," Richie scoffed, sitting up and reaching across the table to poke Stan's shoulder. " _You_ were adored by your parents, went to the best schools, only want to make things better so you can go down in history as the glorious person who saved everything. _Thank God_ that Stanley Uris was there to make things better for all of us!"

"It shouldn't matter why I do things, Richie. All that should matter is that I do them. And, for the record, I was not adored by my parents. I'm just not someone that really thinks about it that much."

"You're just an attention whore, that's all you are," he huffed loudly. "I do these things because I fucking _have_ to, alright? I've been on my own since I was seventeen years old. Dad caught me kissing the neighbor's kid and I was out on the street the next day. I didn't go to your fancy college, I barely finished high school. I rely on my friends because they're my entire life, they make sure I don't starve or get sick or freeze to death. When we're done here, you get to go back to your nice apartment in the better part of the city that your daddy probably pays the rent for because you're on the campaign trail and don't need to have another job- no, your parents wouldn't _dare_ have that for their son. Meanwhile, I'll be going back to where _I_ live, which is a tiny two-bedroom house I share with seven other people, my friends, because the city didn't want me sleeping on the sidewalk anymore. This city doesn't own me, okay, no one owns me. I'm going to park my sweet ass wherever the hell I want and that's that. If I have to fight tooth and nail every minute for the rest of my life so that everyone can have an _ounce_ of the respect that you get, Stanny, then so be it. I don't have nearly as much to lose as you do, which is the only reason why you are doing what you are doing. You don't want to be reduced a bit, you don't want to be treated the way you treat people like me. You do just enough to keep your asses over there on Capitol Hill, but not so much that it's actual change, because actual change is dangerous and gets people killed. But I don't care because millions of lives are at stake while you fuss over yours. I put my life on the line every day I'm out there, why can't you? Why can't you do it when the freaks like me are doing it for so much less?"

"I see you got him all worked up," Ben chuckled as he approached the table while struggling to balance the plates of food in his hands. "Richie, are you sure you're not going to introduce me to your friend here?"

"Quit flirting with the customers, Benjamin," Richie mumbled, taking his small bowl of onion rings from him. "This is Stanley, he's a politician and an asshole. No relation."

"Oh, you're the one that's been calling all week!" Ben smiled as he handed Stanley the plate of fries. "You don't really seem like the disgruntled boyfriend type… well, that's how Eddie's been describing you, anyway."

"No, I was just about to tell Richie that he should think about a career in politics since that little rant of his wasn't half bad," Stanley replied softly, taking a small sip from his milkshake before both Richie and Ben burst into laughter.

"Richie would rather break his own leg than become a politician," Ben shook his head as he stepped away from their table. "You're a funny one, though, Stanley. No wonder he's stuck around this long."

"You're not joking, are you?" Richie asked softly as he slumped down in his seat.

"You live over on Fifteenth, right? By the park?" Stanley asked knowingly, smiling when Richie nodded. "That's a completely different voting district."

"So?" Richie frowned as he continued to chew on the small onion ring.

"It makes a world of difference, that's _so_." Stanley nearly scoffed at Richie's ignorance. "I think- I want to create something new here, to do something that no one's done before. I call it the package deal."

"Is that an innuendo for something else, because I, uh- I don't mean to flatter myself, but you're not exactly in my league," he shrugged, using the straw in his soda to blow bubbles in the fizzy drink.

Sighing, Stanley continued, ignoring Richie's statement. "There's not exactly anyone threatening running in your district, let's put it that way. You have Larry Miller, who's an eighty-year-old tire store owner, and you have Charlie Brook, a lawyer who may or may not have stabbed his neighbor in the ass with a fork last Independence Day. What those people have in common is that they're expected, they're rich and smart and cookie-cutter politicians. They're not getting anyone excited, especially not Brook's wife since they're in the middle of getting a divorce. Can't imagine why. I'll leave it to you to decide which is the Republican and which is the Democrat, but that doesn't matter because you have the lovely job of running as something else entirely. You will be an independent, and you will go out there with your friends and your supporters and that crazy thing you do and you will win. If you go out there, there's no chance you won't win."

"I'm not doing whatever it is you want me to do," Richie replied flatly, shaking his head. "There's a reason why none of us are politicians, okay, why we don't run for office. If one of us goes, the entire thing goes. Politicians are assholes and I am not becoming the exact shit we are fighting against."

"You will have me," Stanley said softly. "I'm tired of you guys talking shit about the students all the time, and I'm sure you guys are tired of the students dragging you down as well. We're all young, we all want the same things. You run in three, I run in five, we do this thing together, and it's two for the price of one. I need the young vote, something you have in your back pocket, while you would need to not look like an absolute psychopath to the few older voters that would hold you back."

"I'm not putting on some stupid suit and tie and act all nice to the old people that got to shit on this country and accept no responsibility for it," Richie scoffed before tossing an ice cube at Stanley.

"You won't have to," Stanley admitted as the ice cube hit his cheek gently. "They just don't understand you. If you go out there and explain yourself and why you do things, I think you'd be surprised as to how people would respond to you."

"Well, if you didn't have a stick up your ass all the time, I think that the young people would respect you more." Richie leaned up, snatching a fry off Stanley's plate and dipping it in his milkshake. "You want my respect? C'mon, here, try this."

"That's disgusting," Stanley groaned. "You ruined a perfectly good milkshake, asshole."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," Richie replied slowly, raising his eyebrows. "You want me to go to Washington and you won't even try the milkshake fry?"

Stanley snarled as he took the fry from Richie, staring at it for a moment before taking a reluctant bite, setting the rest of the fry down on the table. "It's disgusting."

"I can't believe you actually tried it," Richie shook his head as he laughed, taking the glass away from Stanley. "Fine, here, you baby, take my soda instead."

"Oh, yes, because I want your germs," he groaned as he flipped the straw in Richie's glass. Stanley was mumbling to himself when he looked back up at Richie, who had taken the straw out of Stanley's milkshake glass and was proceeding to lick it clean. "What the hell are you doing?"

"There are bite marks on this straw," Richie explained, showing it to Stanley. "Why would I use your straw when you just bit on it the whole time?"

"You're fine with licking it but you don't want to use it to drink a milkshake?" Stanley asked. "What kind of logic is that?"

"I didn't want to waste the milkshake that was still on the straw! Why would I waste perfectly good food like that?"

"You are only saying this nonsense to avoid the things I said," Stanley replied flatly. "If you do this, you'll go down in history, you know that. Over there in Washington, like it or not, is where actual change happens. You guys hate politicians but you won't be them, you won't actually make the change you want. You rely on the people like me that will go out there and do the things you want. You have a chance here, Richie, to be the person in the government that you and your people want to have representing _you_."

"The government doesn't want people like me to even exist, let alone run the country."

"You'll never win, you know," Stanley shrugged, taking a sip of the soda in front of him. "It's the United States government, not some mom and pop bakery that won't take orders from you because you're gay and that bothers them. You can't beat them, so join them. Just go out there and _be_ the government, do the things you want to be done. You don't take no for an answer, I know that, and that's a good thing."

"Why me, though?" Richie asked as he scratched at the back of his neck. "I have a lot of friends all over the city who care about this just as much as I do. Plus, you know, they're not exactly me. All I would do is go down on that floor and start yelling about shit that none of those people care about. It's all I ever do."

"Make them care," Stanly replied, a soft smile appearing on his face. "You're a nuisance, yeah, but I agree that most politicians are as well. All any of them want is to do things to benefit themselves, they don't think about the people they represent, the women, the children, the homeless, any of them. But you do care about them, you care because they deserve that. And you're a good person, I think, which is why I wanted to talk to you first. I'm not forcing you to make any decisions you don't want to make, but you'd be the most qualified person to do this with me. 

Richie sighed as he looked at Stanley, knowing the harsh words he was saying were true. Admittedly, he had been lost those past few years, only ever going with what the rest of the people like him wanted because he knew they were right in the things they believed, but he sometimes grew frustrated with how they acted out. He supported it all, the fires, the fights, the vandalizing, but he realized that those things weren't really getting them anywhere. Well, maybe to jail cells, but change wasn't happening no matter how hard they pushed back against it all. It was the system of the country that was broken, and he didn't know how to fix it.

Well, that was until a rather cute and rather pretentious curly-headed idiot from the eastern side of the city decided to call him.

"What the hell?" Richie muttered to himself as he smiled back. "Just as long as I don't end up with a stick up my ass, unless that stick has your name on it, Stanny, consider this a very soft maybe."

"A very soft maybe," Stanley repeated, a sigh of relief escaping him as the weight of rejection lifted off his shoulders. That smile remained on his face even after Richie stood up from the table once more, offering a wave to Ben before turning back to Stanley.

"I don't mean to just leave you here, but I, uh… protests, y'know," Richie shrugged. "I've got a world to change, babe, and I don't want to slow down now."

Stanley swore he would have slapped the glasses off that moron when Richie grabbed his shoulders and pulled himself down for a kiss that was anything but romantic due to its nature, but he was too taken aback by the action to really process that it had happened at all. He could faintly taste a grotesque mixture of onion and vanilla, but those oddly soft lips had overpowered that just enough, just long enough that by the time Richie had pulled away (really, only about ten seconds later), it was Stanley's turn to turn as red as a tomato.

"I bid you farewell, Mr. Uris," Richie nodded, offering a wink to Stanley. "Not bad, by the way."

For some strange reason that Stanley didn't want to think about, he just sat there silently, watching as Richie fixed the collar of his jacket before rushing out of the small restaurant. That jacket was just as gaudy as Richie himself, but Stanley shouldn't think such things when, in only seven months, he would be wearing that jacket as he and a small group of wonderful people sat eagerly in front of a small television set, cheering at the news. Of course, he wouldn't be wearing that jacket two months later, though it was hard for him not to when he didn't exactly have an important role when it was Richie that had been voted in, but not him.

He was okay with that, really, because he had known that that day in that restaurant was about a lot more than himself and his goals in life. It was about that kiss, and Stanley would think back and laugh about it when he realized that it was all because he had called a weird activist one too many times.

 _He's in the phonebook_ , Stanley thought to himself as he looked back at his half-eaten plate of fries, picking one up and dipping it in what had remained of his milkshake. _I'll call him again_.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr! @kenzie-ann27


End file.
